A Rocky Road
by RoadrunnerGER
Summary: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.
1. Prologue

**A Rocky Road**

a Spooks story

by RoadrunnerGER

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.

_Summary_: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.

A/N: My beta fed me with too much Spooks, causing my muse to throw this bunny about Lucas's imprisonment at me. Richard Armitage's good looks and amazing voice (God, I wish there was a single edition of HIM singing _The Lonely Mountain_!) certainly did not help shaking the idea off. It would not leave me alone, so I decided to save a few lines. I should have known better… Special thanks to my beta _mandassina_ for introducing me to Lucas North and to _Genevastar_ for providing the Russian translations. This story is for you. Enjoy!

**Prologue**

**Moscow**

**August 26, 1999**

Lucas inhaled deeply as he entered the Russian State Library in Moscow and the musty, dusty, tannic smell of millions of books tickled his nostrils. The sun filtering in through the windows cast rays of light with dancing dust which reminded Lucas of the famous black and white photographs of the Grand Central Station in New York. This was a perfect place to meet Katya Belousova, his contact, with lots of nooks and crannies where they could find privacy, miles of shelves in which they could disappear if someone was trying to be nosy, and hundreds of academics milling about so that a man carrying a book or a file folder would not look out of place. Also, just being surrounded by so much learning and literature soothed his ragged nerves.

He had been on edge since his plane had landed in Moscow, which, in a way, made sense; but the dreadful and irrational fear that his cover as a businessman had been compromised did not and the comfortable familiarity of books calmed him for the first time since he had arrived in Russia. He would have loved to use the opportunity to find some rare volume and delve into the depth of good literature. As he had a job to do, though, he had to forsake a good, calming read and concentrate on the mission.

They had agreed to meet in the recent periodicals reading room, which suited Lucas just fine. He had decided to arrive early and wait for Katya so that he could survey the surroundings and make sure they were not being watched, and that would be easier to do from the pages of a newspaper or tabloid where he would be expected to look up and glance around occasionally as he finished reading one article and turned to another. Were his nose buried in some lengthy Russian novel, the behaviour would be much more suspicious.

Upon entering the reading room, Lucas instinctively registered how many people were present. In the far left corner were two young men and a woman sitting at a table, studying piles of magazines. A man in his own age stood at a rack, searching the editions that were laid out there. He also knew that there were three persons behind him now, two women in the left corner and an elderly man to his far right. Even though it was more likely that the single man ahead posed a threat, Lucas tended to believe that he should rather be careful about the two women.

The calm that had initially filled him in the presence of so many books evaporated at seeing Katya waiting for him. Knowing that she had small children, he would have thought that getting them off to school would have made it impossible for her to arrive her before him. Trying not to be too obvious, he glanced about the room, looking for a sign that someone was watching them, waiting to catch them in the act of the exchange. Everyone seemed to be absorbed in reading, though. Still, Lucas knew they were here, somewhere, he could feel them. His professional instinct put him on high alert and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The game he was playing had just turned infinitely more dangerous.

Lucas also knew he could not leave Moscow without Katya's information, but to make the exchange now would be foolhardy. Glaring at Katya as he approached, he dismissed the idea that she was unaware of the threat and tried to discern whether she was betraying him deliberately or being used against her will instead, but as she was a good asset he could not tell from her expression.

He greeted her with a hug and kisses on each cheek, like an old friend or lover, to a stranger it would be hard to tell.

"I did not expect to see you so early," he told her as they embraced. "Do the children not have school today?"

"They are at home," she replied without missing a beat. "My uncle is with them. They have contracted some kind of illness. A parasite, the doctor says."

Lucas's insides churned. _So the FSB bastards are forcing her to betray me by using her children to ensure her cooperation._

He gestured her into a seat and leaned close when he sat down next to her.

"You should have phoned and told me you couldn't make it," he said. "We could have met another time." It was the kind of thing a friend or lover would say. It meant that if she had let him know she was under FSB scrutiny, he would have arranged another meeting place and time after things had cooled down.

"I had to see you today, Jim," she replied. "My husband knows and he's ordered me to break it off. He's waiting for me."

_Oh, bloody hell!_ This was even worse than he had thought. _The FSB isn't just suspicious. They know what we're doing._

"I brought you this," she rasped, holding out an envelope to him, "as a token of my love."

As he took the envelope and pocketed it, Katya began to weep, and Lucas was close enough to know that it was not an act. She was scared and remorseful. He took her hands in his own and felt a flash card drop into his palm.

Lucas's heart skipped a beat when he realized what was going on. The FSB had found her out and ordered her to make this meeting to catch him. They had planted false information and were watching now, even though Lucas had not spotted them yet. Furtively he scanned the room again. Was it the two young women, or had he misjudged the older man who now slouched in an armchair?

His gaze drifted back to Katya. What a mother with two young children was doing playing spy games, Lucas did not know, but even under duress she had managed to smuggle the information out and forward it to him. She looked up at him and just for a split second he saw determination burn in the reddened, tear-filled eyes. He felt like a bloody idiot, but he knew what he had to do. In order to protect his asset and her children, he had to take all the risk on himself.

Closing his hand around the flash card, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, "Do not forget me."

Then he got up and strode purposefully out of the reading room in order to draw the attention of whoever was observing them.

It was his only option. Once he got out of the library he might have a chance to make it to the airport and out of the country before they could cut off that escape route. If he was forced to take another way he might have a major problem.

For now he made it out of the reading room unscathed. None of the people from there followed him. The question remained. Where were the FSB officers?

When he stepped between rows of shelves, someone was behind him. He sidestepped and backtracked on the other side of the shelf, which allowed him to get a glimpse at his pursuer.

_Too easy._

This was far from being over and Lucas knew it. His priority now, aside from getting out of Moscow, was to stash the flash card. He had to reach the pre-arranged dead drop to ensure that MI5 got the information, no matter what happened to him. To do that he had to get out of sight of whoever followed him. Having memorized a map of the library, Lucas knew where to go.

Glancing furtively back he made sure that nobody was in sight and turned sharply right through a door to a staircase for employees. It was no coincidence that Lucas suggested the library for the meeting. In case he had to give up the information he would deposit it there. Another officer would come to retrieve it if he did not come home or make contact by the time he was due to report.

_They think Katya only gave me the planted disc, assuming that I believe it to be the real information. Nobody will get the idea that the dead drop is here in the library._

He ran up the stairs and was brought up short by a man on his way down who attacked him. Lucas parried the blow and punched the other's Adam's apple. Choking, the man collapsed and rolled down the steps to the next landing. Without sparing him another glance, Lucas continued upstairs.

_All right. Out into the hall and to the history section._

Unnoticed, Lucas entered the room and positioned the card inside a book in the non-circulating collection. Avoiding the CCTV he was in and out in the matter of a minute. Now all he had to do was to get home.

_Bloody hell, first I need to get out of this library!_

Leaving the building was easier said than done, though. He could not take the main entrance. That would be guarded by the FSB. The same applied to the other exits.

_Unless…_

Back on the ground floor Lucas carefully opened the door to the entrance hall. He did not see anyone who watched the door, but that did not mean that the FSB was not there. A handful of people moved in and out of the library. Not enough to give Lucas cover. He went back up to the first floor and took the corridor there to cross to the other side of the building. Once more he got down to the ground floor again to see if he could find a way out from there.

This time he could identify one of the officers. He stood near the main entrance from where he would spot Lucas at once if he tried to use that exit.

_I need something to even the odds._

Spotting a big red button, an idea formed in his mind.

_Okay… that might work._

As soon as the other spy looked in the opposite direction, Lucas slipped out of the staircase and strode over to his target. With his elbow he smashed the glass and pressed the button. The fire alarms going off alarmed everyone. Librarians shouted at the visitors to remain calm and find the nearest exit. Lucas joined the next cluster of people that streamed by and drifted toward the main entrance. The FSB officer was still there and Lucas averted his gaze in order to blend into the crowd.

"Von on!" someone shouted and two more men struggled against the throng.

Just for a second, Lucas contemplated ignoring them and trying and get out together with the people around him, but seeing that at least one of the officers pointed at him he realized that they had clearly identified him. He had to find another way.

Pivoting around he weaved in the opposite direction until he spotted two more sturdy men who were apparently searching for something.

_Or someone._

The throng that was supposed to serve as cover now became a hindrance. Struggling fiercely, Lucas blazed a trail sideways and soon found himself back in the staircase, frantically searching for a way to block the door. As he could not spot anything suitable he ran. Up the stairs again. Racking his mind about where to turn. Judging by the pounding sounds behind him, the FSB officers were right on his heels.

Another door.

Another corridor.

Another room.

Lucas tried to put as much distance between himself and the hostile spies as possible.

_How on earth did they find out anyway? How did they learn about Katya?_

Questions he could not find answers for now.

_Run!_

A quick glance over his shoulder told him that the men were still hot on his trail and Lucas felt increasingly cornered.

_Bloody hell! Can't I get out of sight for a moment?_

Going to Moscow had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove himself to Harry in order to get the promotion to Section Chief. Right now that idea backfired, though. All Lucas could do was keep running and trust his stamina and wit. As his feet pounded the floor, he tried to recall the map he had memorized.

_Left!_

Hiding somewhere was no option. They would just close the building and keep searching until they found him. Outrunning his pursuers seemed to be his only chance. At the next crossing, Lucas turned right and entered another big hall with rows of shelves.

_A maze might be what I need._

Inwardly he laughed bitterly at that thought. Chasing through the halls of the library he already felt like a lab rat in search for cheese.

_I__f they catch me only God knows what they'll do to me. I can't let that happen. __I won't go down without a fight._

Lucas darted into one of the aisles and glanced back. At the end of the shelf he sidestepped and waited, trying to breathe as silently as possible despite being out of breath. It took only a few seconds until he heard footsteps. Stepping back out, he brought up his right arm and the other man ran into the heel of his hand, knocking himself out.

Lucas did not wait for the next one but vanished between the other shelves. Backtracking in another aisle, Lucas closed in on his next target. He came from behind and threw the man headfirst against a shelf board. When he struggled, Lucas delivered a fierce blow to the other's solar plexus that winded the officer. His knee connected with a chin, and Lucas grabbed his head, twisting it with a distinct snap. As the man dropped to the floor, Lucas took his gun.

_Two down. How many more?_

Hearing someone shout, he ducked deeper into the shadows. One of the spies alerted his colleagues. They gathered in the middle aisle and Lucas decided that that was his opportunity to get out, stalking along on the other side of the shelf.

"Derzhi! Davai! Davai!" one of them yelled just as Lucas passed the door.

Lucas ran.

Suddenly someone grabbed at his jacket. Where the man came from Lucas did not know. He had been sure that he had extended his lead. Wriggling out of the jacket, Lucas freed himself and chased down the hall…

…and ran into a locked door.

Lucas twisted around and darted along the way he came. Turning right he skidded to a halt once more. Ahead were two more men. Looking around he counted three.

_Shit!_

He was cornered. This seemed to be the crucial moment and Lucas did not intend to just wait and let them arrest him. Lifting the gun he fired at the lock and kicked the door open. It led into another staircase that he chased down.

_Five on my heels and who knows how many more scattered throughout the library, searching for me. I have to get out! I have to get to the next exit!_

His heart hammering in his chest, he kept running, the stairs seeming endless. On the ground floor he turned right and pushed through another door.

_Run, just run!_

Turning left he saw it, his way out. At the end of the corridor was an exit to the street. Once he was outside he had a better chance to escape.

His heart almost stopped mid-beat when two FSB officers skidded to a halt between him and the door.

_No!_

Desperate now, Lucas shot at the Russians, killing one and bringing the other down. He was only thirty feet from the door. He was sure he could escape if he could just get out of the bloody library! He jumped over the dead officer and sailed about two yards before he smashed to the ground.

_Damn!_

Horrified Lucas felt a hand around his ankle and kicked at the wounded Russian who struggled to keep his hold on him. Feeling the grip release, Lucas scrambled to his feet and made three more yards before a blow against his back made him stumble.

_Nooooooo!_

Kicking at the man, Lucas tried to incapacitate him long enough for him to reach the door. A grunt and a curse from behind made him dart forward and had almost made it when a body crashed into his back, throwing him against the door. Ignoring the pain, Lucas twisted around and punched at the first thing that was in his way. He hit the other's chin, throwing him back. Unfortunately the other officers caught up as well and charged at him. With a roar of rage Lucas lunged at the man on his left, trying to knock him out with the first blow. Alas he only hit the other's parry. With a kick to the side, Lucas fended the second one off.

_That won't work!_

Panic attempted to get a hold on him, but he forced it to the back of his mind. Fighting like hell, he tried to sell himself as dearly as he could, but even with his extensive close combat training it was an uneven battle against five equally trained FSB officers. A vicious blow to his right kidney made Lucas scream and his legs buckled. It turned the fight to the others' favour. Two of them managed to grab his arms while the others beat him ruthlessly.

"Vsyo!"

Whoever the thundering voice belonged to, it made the men stop as ordered. Breathing hard, Lucas swayed on unsteady feet and might have slumped if the men had not held him upright. When he lifted his gaze he saw another man approach whom he did not recognize. Clad in an expensive designer suit and wearing fine leather shoes he apparently was a high ranking officer.

_Bugger! I didn't even make it out of the ruddy library!_ Lucas's breathing still was erratic and his devastation did nothing to ease it. _It was __**not**__ my intention to visit the Lubyanka on this trip._

The man came even closer and eyed their captive intently.

"Lucas North, I presume."

_Shit! They know my name!_

That he and Katya had been identified as spies was annoying, but realizing that his whole cover was blown filled Lucas with dread.

"Welcome to Moscow! We will treat you to Russia's hospitality. I am sure you will appreciate it."

_Scratch that, I'm terrifi…_

A blow against the back of his head knocked Lucas out cold.

tbc…

A/N: I think I will change the rating to M with the next chapter to be on the safe side.

von on! = there he is

derzhi! = catch him

vsyo! = stop!


	2. Chapter 1 - Forecourt to hell

**A Rocky Road**

a Spooks story

by RoadrunnerGER

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.

_Summary_: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.

A/N: Thank you everyone! _Genevastar_ is right, English is not my mother tongue, so I need to forward some of the praise to _mandassina_. We're complementing each other and I owe so many thanks to her for giving my work the finishing touch! :-*

As it was the trigger for writing this story, I simply **had** to include one of the most impressive scenes Mr. Armitage has given to us in s7 ep3. I admire his professionalism that resulted in his gut wrenching portrayal of Lucas's anguish surrounding the "Sugarhorse" scene. It's not just a flashback, but whoever wants to skip it won't miss anything plotwise.

After discussing the subject with my beta-reader I decided to stick with T. The show itself is rated 15+ and the story doesn't contain anything overly graphic. Still there are scenes that depict Lucas suffering in prison, including torture. If you don't like reading that, this story is not for you.

**Chapter 1 – Forecourt to hell**

Panic.

Pain.

Cold.

When an icy gush of water jerked Lucas back to consciousness, he felt disorientated. He gasped with shock and squirmed. His reflexive attempt to get away, though, was thwarted by rope and handcuffs holding him in place where he was tied to a chair.

A groan escaped him.

_Shit!_

With his returning memory came the fear.

_Katya!_

Squinting against the bright light directed at him, Lucas tried to assess his surroundings. It was hard to see much and it did not really matter as all cells or interrogation rooms were alike in the end.

Once they had woken him, they made him wait which was worse than beginning straight with the interrogations. This way he had time to think about what they might do to him, and Lucas had a vivid imagination.

He was reasonably certain that he was at the FSB headquarters at Lubyanka Square. The prison there was infamous. Built in the late nineteenth century for an insurance agency, part of the then occupied building was turned into a prison in 1920. Ever since it had held well-known prisoners like Alexander Solzhenitsyn and many men and women whose names would never be known.

_Like myself._

Lucas shuddered.

_Harry will get me out. He'll arrange for my release. I just need to hold out until he can make a deal with the FSB._

In his current position, though, his confidence felt somewhat forced. Lucas had no idea what awaited him. All he knew was that it would not be anything good.

When finally someone came for him, Lucas could not say that he was surprised either when the elegant man whom he had seen at the library stepped forward.

"Hello, Lucas," he greeted in a conversational tone that belied his dangerousness.

That was a mistake Lucas would not make: underestimating his interrogator. Nobody gained a high position inside the FSB by demonstrating a bleeding heart and lack of ruthlessness.

As Lucas did not respond, the man came up beside him and took hold of his chin to tilt his head back.

"Look at me," he commanded when Lucas would not meet his gaze.

Grudgingly, Lucas complied.

"I have to admit that I was surprised, learning that a British spy was here in Moscow," the man stated. "In times of peace that should not really be necessary, don't you think?"

"I would think so, yes," Lucas replied, and feeling stubborn he added, "Though I have no idea what you're talking about. My name's James Phelps and I'm with Merrill Lynch International."

He expected to get the answer right across his face. The slap, though, did not come. Instead the man chuckled.

"You have spirit, I give you that," he praised, starting to walk around his captive. "Well, Harry Pearce would hardly send an idiot, now, would he?"

_Certainly not._

Goosebumps ran down Lucas's spine as it dawned on him that the FSB was too well informed for him to talk himself out of this.

"Aside from that…" the Russian said, "no banker would kill as efficiently as you did." He paused, fixating his captive with a glare that made the spook's hair stand on end. Calmly he went on, "Your name is Lucas North, by profession a spy for her Majesty's Secret Service. You arrived with British Airways flight BA233 at half past three yesterday afternoon at Moscow Domodedowo."

Lucas did his best not to show his surprise. That the interrogator gave away that information so readily was disturbing to say the least, and Lucas felt a very real fear creep up inside of him.

"We have a source, Lucas, a good source," the man went on as if he was reading his captive's thoughts. "We knew you were coming when you had not yet set foot in Heathrow."

The interrogator was right. Lucas was not an idiot. He knew exactly the implication of what he was told.

_Someone sold me out?_

With the realization came a sickening sensation that spread from his insides through Lucas's whole body until it closed up his throat.

_Who? Only a handful of people can have known about the operation. Harry, of course, Malcolm, and Tom… I can't believe one of them would… Bloody hell!_

His current situation suggested otherwise, though.

"You're making a mistake," Lucas grunted.

"I do not think that _I_ am the one who made the mistake," the FSB officer stated and stepped up in front of Lucas again.

"Where's Katya?"

"Oh, she is safe."

That could mean anything and renewed fear pierced Lucas. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing," the interrogator replied in a lilting tone that Lucas had already begun to associate with him. "You see, Katya is a good girl. She was just a little... misguided. She will be interrogated, sent to prison. I will recommend a lenient sentence because she helped us, and if she is well-behaved in prison, she will get out in time to see her children finish school." The interrogator smiled jovially. "You, Lucas, are another matter entirely."

At that a lump formed in Lucas's throat that he tried to swallow unsuccessfully.

"You are a spy, Lucas. You know the dance."

"You can't just hold me here!" Lucas snapped, straining against his ties.

"No?"

It was the simplicity in this single word that chased chills down Lucas's spine. Despite his earlier claim he knew that people simply disappeared in the Russian prison system… he just never expected to be one of them.

"We brought you in for questioning," the man told him matter of factly. "How long that is going to take is entirely up to you."

_Questioning! That means that I won't get to see a trial! They'll just keep me!_ As Lucas did not intend to tell them anything, he guessed that his future was going to be rather bleak. _Hope Harry will get me out before I end up in Lefortovo._

"See, Lucas, when Harry sent you to Moscow he knew about the possible consequences… and so did you. Now, we are going to talk and then we will decide. No?"

"Isn't it customary to introduce oneself first?" Lucas growled.

His opposite chuckled.

"Well, as we will be spending a lot of time together, I think it is only fair to answer your question. My name is Arkady Kachimov." Leaning forward he once more tilted up Lucas's head. "Now… do you not want to at least confirm your name? Lucas?"

There was no sense in denial, actually, but Lucas did not offer confirmation either.

"I see, you are very talkative," Kachimov teased.

"Well, that depends on the subject," Lucas wryly replied. "Do you like to cook?"

This time Kachimov downright laughed out loud.

"I like your sense of humour, Lucas," the FSB interrogator declared. "I appreciate a good meal, I really do, but I would rather like to talk about…" with his free hand he fumbled something out of his jacket pocket and held it into Lucas's direct line of sight, "this."

It was the small envelope Katya had given to him at the library. _The fake disc. Why's that interesting for you?_

"C'mon, Lucas," Kachimov prodded. "We know, Katya gave this disc to you. What were you going to do with it?"

_You mean, you didn't give it to her?_ Lucas was confused. Sure, a misunderstanding was always possible, but he did not think that that was the case here. What should he tell him?

"Nothing," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Quirking one eyebrow, Kachimov smirked evilly. "You are risking your life for a whole lot of nothing?" he challenged. "You are a bad liar."

_You think?_

"You really do not want to tell me?" Kachimov kept insisting.

Lucas shook his head.

"Well," Kachimov drawled in his characteristic lilt, "you should know that I am a patient man, Lucas. I am not so sure about Captain Kuznetsov, though."

Letting go of Lucas's chin, he turned to leave.

The interrogator Kachimov had mentioned did not come right away. Lucas waited for several minutes before a figure appeared beyond the spotlights. Squinting against the brightness, Lucas did not see much of the other interrogator before his chin was hit by a punch that threw his head around. He grunted with pain and had to fight dizziness. The captain did not hesitate to beat him again and Lucas's world dissolved in agony.

xXx

A couple of days that felt like weeks later, Lucas would have happily embraced death if the Russians would have let him. He seriously could not tell how much time had passed and he did not know if he could believe his captors when they said that it was seventeen days either. By now the pain was a constant companion that refused to go away even when he was not mistreated. Lucas did not want to think about what they did to him and it would probably be easier to count what they did _not_ do.

Once it had been so bad that he woke in a hospital bed, restrained by leather manacles on wrists and ankles. Even then Kachimov came to talk with him. It had been a rather one-sided conversation as long as the interrogator expected information about MI-5, but at some point, Kachimov had switched the subject and they had actually talked about cooking. From there they came to sport as well as politics. That was when Lucas became wary. Kachimov had quit then and allowed his captive to rest, but when Lucas woke the next time, the interrogator was already back by his side… or had not even left, he could not tell.

For approximately two days now, Lucas sat in an interrogation room. They hardly granted him any sleep, and even that, he took sitting up in his chair. He had only been permitted to leave his seat a few times to use the toilet or to stand up and sit back in it after one of his interrogators had knocked him out of it. His neck and back and ribs ached, his bum and legs, even his ankles and feet, which had swollen inside his shoes from the lack of mobility and the force of gravity. For the past several hours, he had been suffering intermittent muscle cramps from the strain of just sitting still for so long. He estimated that it was an hour, maybe less, between the sessions that were always led by another interrogator, four so far. Curiously, Kachimov was not among them. Actually, he had not seen him for days, and Lucas wondered why he was not present if he clearly was the head of the operation.

Lucas sat with his head resting on his arms on the tabletop. How long was the interrogator gone now? He had no idea. He was dead beat, though, yet too agitated and in pain to fall asleep immediately. When the door opened, he did not waste the energy to lift his head, assuming that the next interrogator would sit down on the opposite side of the table. Instead guards grabbed his arms and jerked him up from his seat.

_Shit!_

As much as he ached from sitting still, he could not quite stifle the cry of pain caused by being forced to move so suddenly.

They dragged him out of the room and down the hall to another cell that seemed completely bare. On second sight, Lucas discovered more details, but seeing the wooden pallet on the floor, he planted his feet. Panic hit him full force as he recognized the setting from the training he had received, and though he did not realize it until later, the fear at least drove the pain from the forefront of his mind for a little while. Back then he had been treated to another form of torture, which he was grateful for as he considered the board to be especially horrible. Being confronted with it now a strangled cry escaped him as he tried to break free, but he was no match for the guards in his weakened state. Despite his comparatively fierce struggles they forced him down, coming to lie on his back, and strapped him to the pallet.

In vain, Lucas strained against the leather that was strapped across his ankles, thighs, waist, and chest. More straps tied his hands to the wooden boards. The foot end of the pallet was elevated which made Lucas's position uncomfortable already. Knowing about the agony that was about to come did not make the situation any better. It was cold here in addition. With only a pair of track pants on, Lucas began to shiver and knew that it would become worse once the water came.

Movement beside him caught his attention. The interrogator who towered over him now was female. Lucas recalled seeing her before. During one of the questionings she stood in the shadows of the room and watched. Now Lucas could see her narrow face that was even more elongated by her hair being tied in a tight bun at the top of her head. Maybe that was why he had estimated her to be middle-aged before which was not accurate. Still, her young features did not want to match her stern attire. Out of blue eyes she stared down at him along her long nose. Coldly, indifferently, and Lucas knew without a doubt that he had to expect anything but mercy from her.

She lit a cigarette and took a deep draw. It was a peculiar sight how she folded her left arm under her breasts to put her right elbow onto her hand, holding out the hand with the fag in a perverted ladylike fashion. Looking down at her captive with disdain, she exhaled through pursed lips. The anthracite jacket over a black, round-necked shirt made her look like a governess.

_Or a dominatrix. I wouldn't be surprised to see a riding crop instead of the cigarette._

"Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye," she snidely said.

"There is no network," Lucas told her firmly.

"Kto chlyen syeti?" she insisted and glanced aside.

Any answer caught in his corded up throat, so Lucas shook his head. Rolling his eyes, he tried to follow the movements of the two guards who still were in the room with them. While one fumbled about with a cloth the other held a big plastic bottle. In theory, Lucas knew only too well what those were meant for and dreaded that those one and a half litres of water that the bottle held would feel like being engulfed by a flash flood.

"Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse," the interrogator demanded.

_Sugarhorse?_ Lucas almost blurted out loud with confusion.

Leaning down to him she blew smoke into his face and demanded again, "Tell me about Sugarhorse."

When Lucas did not answer, she nodded at her helper. Lucas saw him close in with trepidation. The cloth that was put over his face was wet now and the sensation of his breathing being impaired instantaneously put him on alert. He tried to hold his breath for a while, but then he had to exhale… and inhale in turn. The inhalation brought the damp cloth tight against his nostrils which scared the crap out of him. Being unable to suppress it, a strangled cry escaped him which resulted in drawing in water from the cloth into his mouth. He felt how more water was poured down on him. It invaded his mouth and nostrils at once and his gag reflex set in.

More water poured down, though, and renewed panic set in at the terrifying sensation of water flooding down the larynx and trachea as he struggled to breathe. Everything he had heard about this form of intensive interrogation paled in comparison with the real experience. Every cell in Lucas's body just wanted to draw breath, regardless of the fact that there was no air but water. His head seemed to burst and violent coughs shook his body, throwing it into his bonds but only resulting in drawing more water.

_I'm dying!_

His chest, his lungs, his throat, his head… everything hurt when Lucas started vomiting and his head was released to allow him to throw up. Water sprayed everywhere, got into his eyes and ran out of his nose. Colourful spots danced before his eyes and he gasped painfully for breath.

"Shto takoiye Sugarhorse?" the governess from hell repeated her question.

Coughing was sheer agony and Lucas was hardly able to grasp a clear thought._Hell, what's Sugarhorse?_ He still was as clueless as before.

"Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse?"

"I… don't know," Lucas rasped hoarsely.

"Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse!" the interrogator insisted mercilessly with a nod sideways.

A cry of wordless terror tore off Lucas's lips as he saw the bottle above him, water swashing out and splashing onto his face. Turning his head, he managed to avoid it getting into his nose, but it sprayed into his eyes that started to tear up. Blinking, Lucas tried to soothe the burning sensation. He wished he could reach up to brush the water away, but his wrists were tightly bound to the pallet with leather straps. His joints already hurt from his struggles.

"Stop! Just stop it!" he spluttered against the pouring and blew his nose in an attempt to clear his air passages.

"Ladno, nu skazhi!"

"I can't…" he started to beg when another gush of water poured onto his face, running into his open mouth and his nostrils. Struggling against his ties, Lucas tried to lift his head, desperate to avoid the liquid entering his system. His chest hurt as his lungs were invaded which triggered laryngospasm. With his throat sealed against further intrusion, he could not even gasp for breath for a moment. Once more he had to throw up. His first breath then exploded in his chest. Barely conscious he anxiously fought to finish his sentence between coughing, "…tell you… what… I don't know!"

_I wish I knew! Really!_ By now he was ready to tell her anything she wanted, but she just kept asking about the mysterious _Sugarhorse_. Lucas could only assume that it was the codename for an operation. An operation he was not privy to.

"Tell me about Sugarhorse."

Lucas's answer was rather garbled as he choked it out with breaking voice between desperate gasps for breath, "I… don't know… what… Sugarhorse is!"

Unperturbed the interrogator went on, "What is Sugarhorse?"

A whimper escaped Lucas as he watched the guards prepare their next assault. "I don't know," he pleaded, "I swear! Please, stop!"

As this remained his sole reply the interrogator signalled the guards to go ahead.

Fear robbed Lucas of his breath even before the cloth was tightly held over his mouth and nostrils again. His throat threatened to close as he forced himself not to try and breathe which was futile. The water running down on the cloth first cut off any way of air supply and then filled his head and throat. Squirming in his bonds, Lucas prayed for it to stop.

_No more! Please…!_

His pleas remained unheard.

The accumulation of carbon dioxide finally forced respiration. Inhaling water, Lucas panicked. Fiery spears shot through his system. His muscles cramped. His body convulsed, rearing in the restraints. Gulping and coughing could not clear his respiratory tract. Spasms shook him uncontrollably. Colourful dots danced before his eyes. His body was shutting down and Lucas went into the darkness with the conviction that he was not coming back.

tbc…

Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye, = Tell me about your network of assets in Moscow

Kto chlyen syeti? = Who belongs to your network?

Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse, = Tell me about Sugarhorse

Shto takoiye Sugarhorse? =What is Sugarhorse

Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse? = Who set up Sugarhorse

Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse! = Tell me about Sugarhorse

"Ladno, nu skazhi! = Then tell me about Sugarhorse!"


	3. Chapter 2 - Stages of squalor

**A Rocky Road**

a Spooks story

by RoadrunnerGER

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.

_Summary_: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.

A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback. It really means a lot to me as this was really hard to write. It's rewarding to know I could master the difficult subject. I hope that I could keep it up and that you will - well, enjoy probably is the wrong word there - continue to value my story. Very special thanks to my beta _mandassina_!

**Chapter 2 – Stages of squalor**

**Lubyanka**

**Moscow headquarters of the FSB**

Lucas awoke to the unpleasant sensation of something being inside his nose. He was barely conscious enough to realize that it was a thin tube that helped him breathe, supplying him with oxygen. The regular beeps of the machine monitoring his vitals did not register in his mind. A moment later he drifted back into darkness.

xXx

Only slowly the darkness receded. At first Lucas wondered if he actually was awake, but then he realized that the room was rather dark. There was a tiny lamp that offered just enough light to see the shapes of bed and nightstand as well as the machine that still monitored him. Scarce moonlight filtered through the small window to his right.

_Where am I?_

Lucas was too exhausted to think about that question properly. His memories also were rather sketchy and he felt sore all over his body and soul. The door opened and a woman looked in. Seeing him awake she ventured inside. When she stepped up beside the bed she checked on his vitals.

"It's good to see you awake," she said. "You gave us quite a scare."

_Oh, really?_

"Where am I?" Lucas asked and was horrified by how hoarse he sounded.

"Med ward," she replied curtly. "How's your throat?"

"Raw," he croaked.

"Anything else that hurts?"

Lucas was not sure he knew what she meant as he could not tell where one pain ended and the other started. It would be easier to answer where he did _not_ hurt.

"My chest," he rasped. "Trouble… breathing."

"Well, the oxygen should help with that," she murmured and checked on the thin tube that still was in his nose. "The doctor said you're doing fine now, so don't worry. Rest. I'll be back in the morning." She adjusted something on the drip and left the room.

_Why do I need oxygen?_

With the question came his memories and his whole body tensed up while the beeping of the machine accelerated with his pulse. Taking a shuddering breath reminded Lucas that he was not able to breathe at all not so long ago. Coughing set his chest on fire and slowly it dawned on him what had happened.

_Something must have gone wrong. They had to revive me! My ribs might be cracked!_

Fresh anxiety filled him with that realization. He knew that the technique was not a simulation. The subject, in this case him, was drowning. When done right it was controlled death that could be repeated all over again and again, but it could also go horribly wrong, resulting in terminal hypoxia.

_Shit! They did it once! They'll do it again!_

A renewed surge of panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he felt too exhausted for it to take hold and he readily gave in to med induced sleep again.

xXx

As Lucas's recovery proceeded, Kachimov came to visit him again. The spook did not intend on answering any of his questions, but he soon figured out that the man was good company. Kachimov was willing to engage in conversation rather than conducting an interrogation that was bound to become rather one-sided. Still Lucas had to be careful, no matter what they were talking about. The colonel, as he had learned, liked to shoot all kinds of questions out of the blue or hide them inside casual discussions. He was a good strategist and Lucas wondered if he played chess. Unfortunately he got no opportunity to confirm his speculation as he soon was well enough to be transferred and taken to another prison.

xXx

**Lefortovo prison**

**1999**

At Lefortovo Lucas found himself in just another solitary cell. It was barely four by four paces big and had a wooden frame as a cot, as well as metal fixtures. That was it. Its bare walls were oppressive and Lucas fought against depression during his first days in his new _accommodation_.

Lucas still got no sign of Harry working on his release. If the excessive torture he had been subjected to was any indication, he guessed that the Russians tried to force as much intel out of him as they could before they had to give him up. That he now was housed at the equally notorious Lefortovo prison, though, made Lucas doubt for the first time that he would be released any time soon. Compared to the Lubyanka, little was known about Lefortovo. Rumours were all he ever heard about the prison and he imploringly hoped that he would not end up in the giant meat grinder that was said to be installed in the courtyard to dispose of the unfortunate souls who did not survive _questioning_.

So far he had not been taken to interrogation again, but Lucas knew that was only a matter of time. His respite would be brief enough as it was.

He could tell already that the regime at Lefortovo was rather strict. No unnecessary word was spoken by the guards and, curiously, there was no rope telegraph or anything comparable that prisoners used to exchange messages or small packages of tea or tobacco.

_I wonder where Kachimov is. Maybe he doesn't have any questions anymore._

Of course he knew that that was highly unlikely. The only thing that would keep his interrogator away was death… Lucas's or his own.

_I have no reason to think about death yet,_ Lucas told himself. _Harry is working hard on making that deal, I'm sure of that. And the Russians brought me back once. They don't want me dead. Once I'm dead there's no chance left to pry information from me. Maybe they even speculate about turning me. Ridiculous!_

Even though he was a hundred per cent convinced that he would remain adamant and stay loyal to his country, Lucas could not take into consideration all eventualities. The Russians were inventive. Who knew what they would come up with next?

Hearing the door to his cell being unlocked, Lucas stood from the cot. A guard gestured him to come out and follow him. As Lucas expected to be taken to the next interview, he used the walk to think about what he would tell them this time and what his strategy would be.

While the guard escorted him, he used a tiny clacker to give sound signals. Lucas wondered what that habit was about until he heard another signal and was shoved to one of many black wooden cabinets that stood along the prison passages. Pushing insistently, the guard manoeuvred the inmate into the box and told him not to move.

Stunned and curious, Lucas stood, facing the wall, inside the cabinet and saw nothing at all while he heard footsteps of two other persons who passed their position. Once the steps had faded away, the guard ordered him to step out again and they continued on their way. They took a lift and moved upwards. When they stepped out, they entered another short corridor from where they moved into an exercise yard.

Surprised, Lucas raised his gaze to the cloud-covered sky. It was cold outside and even between the high walls of the enclosure his hair was ruffled by a strong breeze. His guard told him that he could walk around for about half an hour, but Lucas did not feel compelled to do that. Tilting his head back he watched the clouds roam across the sky. A flock of birds passed by but they were too high for Lucas to recognize them.

The sight made his guts churn. His longing for freedom was still uncurbed and suddenly he felt the need to run. He twitched but stopped himself. He did not know if running would be allowed. Sure, it would be hard in the confines of the exercise square, but he would prefer it over strolling listlessly around the court.

Turning to the guard he tried to pique his attention. As he could not trigger a reaction and did not want to address him as he was not sure if that was allowed either, Lucas started with a lazy jog around the court, picking up speed with every round he made. The guard was watching but did not stop him. Encouraged, Lucas sped up again until he could not run faster inside the stone walls. Bouncing against the bricks he stopped, panting, and looked up at the sky again. The sun peeked through a hole in the clouds.

_How much time will they grant me?_

Once more he began to jog around the square. It felt good to use his muscles for what they were meant to do. Move. Lucas could feel the energy return that the oppressive walls of Lefortovo had drained from him. Breathing. Running. Lucas loved it. He was so concentrated on his body that he made the mistake to ignore the guard.

A mistake that he sorely regretted when he smashed on the floor.

"Watch your step!" the guard teased.

_Funny._

Lucas did not even spare him a glance, knowing that all he would see was a satisfied sneer on the burly man's face. Strong but out of shape, his questionable success of tripping his captive likely was all he could achieve.

"Time to go," the guard said firmly.

Taking a last deep, conscious breath, Lucas followed the man back to the lift. On their way to his cell they closed in on two other inmates and both times Lucas was forced to stand in one of the cabinets. It was a peculiar feeling to be cut off from possible social intercourse, no matter how brief it could be in passing. Lucas could not even catch a glimpse at the other prisoners and was pretty certain that they would not get a look at him either.

Soon Lucas was locked up in his cell again. About an hour later another man came with food. It was only a small portion and bland, but it made do. There was still no sign that he would be taken to another interrogation. When finally the lights went out, Lucas settled down on the wooden cot to sleep.

**Lefortovo prison**

**1999**

If anyone would have asked Lucas before his trip to Moscow if sitting in a bare room could be torture, he would have decisively said _no_.

Now he knew better.

It was not the fact that the room was small.

It was not that he was on his own, even though he might admit that it took part in wearing him down.

It was not that it was cold, though that was pretty uncomfortable as well.

No.

It was the lack of definition.

The room Lucas currently sat in, stark naked and shivering, was painted black. The floor, the concrete walls, the ceiling, the door… everything was black. Everything except the single light bulb in its wired cage was dark as the night which began to tear on the inmate's nerves sooner rather than later.

All Lucas could clearly make out now was his own body. His fair skin stood in stark contrast to the colour of the room and appeared to be even paler than he really was.

The spook caught himself watching his fingers move in a random pattern. In his black prison he found no other point of reference. In the beginning he had been able to see the edge of floor meeting the bottom of the wall and where the corners were. The longer he sat in this hole, though, the more the contours blurred.

_It's like being buried alive,_ Lucas thought. Yet he knew that the comparison paled. If he was buried in a cave or a cellar there would be no light. It was that single light that shone mercilessly for as long as he was locked up here now that made the difference.

_Even the door blends in almost seamlessly._

Lucas had patted it up and down. As it opened to the outside it fit smoothly into the frame and he could find no hinges. It was just a plain steel panel that did not look any different from the bare concrete.

_You ruddy bastards! Let me out!_

Lucas was about to scream it but bit his tongue. He was not ready to admit defeat.

_Harry! Why don't you help me? You need to get me out of here! Don't abandon me in this horrible place! Nobody's showing any mercy! Help me, Harry!_

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Lucas wrapped his arms around his legs. Hugging himself like that he gently rocked to and fro, humming the first melody that came to his mind.

_What is it anyway? I can't recall the title. It's from Sting, I think._

He tried to recall the lyrics and failed. Frustration quickly turned into anxiety. Humming became increasingly difficult when his breathing became strained. Then it quickened. A shudder coursed through Lucas's body.

_Blake. Just grab a poem and focus._

As if on auto pilot, Lucas began to recite _Proverbs of Hell_. First only his lips moved, but then he spoke aloud… until he had to pause because the words did not come. He racked his mind. The words were there, he knew they were. Still he could not grasp them. Once more his laboured breathing gave away his unease.

_Scratch unease!_

His stomach clenched with a gnawing fear.

_How long now? Did they forget I'm in here?_

Trying to pace led him straight into the wall. The room was hardly big enough for him to stretch out when he lay down. Striding out was next to impossible. Pivoting, Lucas started with small steps, his right hand brushing along the wall. Five times he passed a corner before he felt disorientated. The lack of definition made him nauseous and the blackness of his surroundings fuelled depression. Groaning, Lucas changed his direction.

First corner.

Second corner.

Third corner.

Fourth corner.

Fifth corner.

Sixth corner.

Lucas began to feel lightheaded.

_I could use my faeces to mark the corners._

Disgust made his insides churn.

_Hopefully they'll let me out before I seriously consider it._

Resuming walking at a slower pace, Lucas did his best to loosen up his sore muscles as well as fight his depression. He could not even find the smallest grooves in the concrete. In his regular cell the unevenness of the wall was clearly visible. Here nothing distracted his sight.

Caving to a sudden rush of anxiety, Lucas threw himself at the door and pounded his fists against the metal, howling, "Let me ooooouuuuuuuut!"

No reaction was forthcoming.

A few more times, Lucas hit the door before he stopped due to the agony in his hands. With a sob he tumbled back to one of the corners and slid down the wall. Sitting on the cold concrete floor he wrapped his arms around his legs again. Hugging himself tighter, Lucas tried to refocus on his poetry, which was a real effort that resulted in his gut wrenching even more and silent tears running down his stubbled cheeks.

xXx

Driven by sheer fear and desperation, Lucas ran down the service tunnel. By a hair's breadth he had avoided being seen by the guards, at least he thought he did. It could be, though, that his absence was noticed already. Or that they found the unconscious man who had been supposed to take him back to his cell.

Too much time had passed. Too much time without any sign of Harry trying to get him back. Lucas just was slowly wasting away in prison and he had had enough of it.

Running gave him some sort of purpose. Now he just had to find a way out, which was easier said than done. Of course he had tried to find out as much about the prison as possible, but the bitter truth was that he had acted out of opportunity rather than on the basis of a good plan.

Now that came back to haunt him.

He was in a part of the prison where he definitely was _not_supposed to be. As a result Lucas had no idea where he was or where he had to go. The tunnel had to lead somewhere and he would decide what to do when he got there.

Of course trying to escape was a risk. If he was caught he would surely get executed. As it was, though, he felt that was better than living in this hell.

_I can't tell what was worse, the physical torture at the Lubyanka or what they did here. The black cell was horrible, but so was being stuck in that tiny hole with nowhere to escape the noises._

His mind took him back to the cell that was even smaller than the black room. Lucas became claustrophobic the second they pushed him inside. It reminded him more of a coffin than a room, actually, and his breathing accelerated when the door locked behind him. He had barely time to adjust before the noise started. It was like the roar of powerful engines, like a plane taking off right next to him and it did not stop. It did not take long for Lucas to start screaming and hammering against the door, but the noise was overpowering his attempts to make himself heard and when they finally released him, he collapsed in a sobbing wreck on the floor.

_And Harry's doing nothing to stop it. _Lucas panted with his run. He stopped at a crossing, frantically scanning the corridors and trying to decide in which direction to go. _I don't know how long I've been here already, but it must be months. What has Harry done in all that time? Some sort of reaction should have come from the Russians, but there was nothing. Is Kachimov right? Did Harry first sell me out and then abandon me? If he won't help me, I've got to help myself._

Picking a tunnel, Lucas hoped that he chose right. He had not gone far, though, when he heard the thudding of several pairs of shoes from ahead. Throwing himself around he ran as fast as he could in order to get out of sight. Unfortunately another three guards just rounded the corner he had last passed.

_Shit!_

Directing their weapons at the fugitive, the men ordered him to stop. Lucas skidded to a halt and looked both ways in search for the weakest link. There was none. Each of them carried at least a handgun and two of them a Sten gun. All weapons were directed at him.

Feeling his heart sink, Lucas assessed the situation. Fighting would result in his death. Surprisingly he did not consider that an option anymore. He wanted to survive and he would find another way to get out of here.

Raising his hands above his head, Lucas surrendered. With fast steps the men caught up to him and grabbed his arms. A kick in the hollows of his knees made him cry out and stagger. A brutal blow with the butt of a gun between his shoulder blades stunned him. Unable to defend himself he had to endure that they shackled his wrists behind his back. Then they beat the living hell out of him before they dragged him back to his cell.

tbc…


	4. Chapter 3 - Out in the sticks

**A Rocky Road**

a Spooks story

by RoadrunnerGER

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.

Summary: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he had to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.

A/N: Sorry for not replying to each comment, I assure you that I appreciate every feedback and that I thank you very much. I'm glad I could capture the atmosphere and Lucas's emotions. Thank you.

Aside from the Sugarhorse bit, I was most intrigued about how Lucas got his tattoos and why as his statement from episode one "you don't have them, you don't belong…" does not seem to fit with what I believe to remember about him having been in solitary most of his imprisonment. The latter applies at least to the four years spent in Lushanka and if he was in solitary, why should he get tattoos as he never was part of the prison community? This chapter begins my exploration of how all that played out…

Once more big thanks to _mandassina_ as this chapter needed some serious polishing.

**Chapter 3 – Out in the sticks**

**Labour camp**

**1999**

_Punishment?_

Lucas actually had to bite back a smirk. He had been told that his transfer was a punishment for his escape attempt. When he climbed down from the back of the truck, though, and breathed in the fresh air, he could have danced with joy. Since going to the library on that fateful August morning all he ever saw of the sky was a small patch, squared off by the high walls surrounding the exercise yard on the rooftop of Lefortovo prison.

Now he stood in a big courtyard, surrounded by barracks. Only when he was pushed forward and made the first steps, Lucas actually realized how cold it was outside and that he stepped into snow.

_Still winter. I thought that more time had passed._

As time had seemed to drag on between interrogations and the torture sessions had often left him disorientated, Lucas could not be sure how long it had been since he was captured. At first he had had a window in his cell, but after one of the sessions they took him to an isolation cell.

No window.

No contact.

No way to keep track of the days.

No walks up to the rooftop either.

It was kind of pathetic, really, but that was what Lucas missed most. For about half an hour he had breathed fresh air and seen a square of sky. Inside the walls of the prison everything remained the same.

The sounds.

The taste.

The temperature.

Now the trip out to this camp and the walk to his new prison already provided Lucas with a plethora of impressions that he needed to digest.

The guards led him into the nearest barrack and to a room at the head of the building. A stout and bald man sat behind a simple desk. He looked up at the prisoner and stood to walk around the table and pick up a bundle from a chair near the wall.

"So, you're the new addition," he snarled as he looked Lucas up and down and pushed the bundle in his arms. "You'll learn the rules fast. Work hard and don't get yourself into trouble. Then you'll survive here."

_Sounds cheery._

Lucas was not sure what he had to expect when he followed the guard down the hall along the barred cells. Even though nobody was in there right now the place already made Lucas uncomfortable. For some reason he felt hemmed in. They stopped at the last cell in the row and a guard opened the door. Lucas stepped inside and the bars closed behind him with a metallic clonk.

He looked at the scarce furnishing. There was a broad wooden platform along the long wall on the left side of the cell, covered with woollen blankets. It looked like a bigger version of the cot in his cell at Lefortovo and Lucas easily guessed that all inhabitants of the cell shared it for the night. On the right side were a metal toilet and a washing bowl as well as a shelf with several boxes. Above it a number of nails served as hooks.

Somehow Lucas doubted that he would be alone in this cell.

_Finally some company._

The walls were a filthy grey, and there was a large stain near the toilet that might be blood spatter or other bodily fluids. Upon closer inspection, he was fairly certain it was blood, and his imagination was flooded with images of men getting their throats slit while shaving or having their heads bashed in during a fight over whose turn it was to take a shit.

_I'm going to have to watch my back._

Of course it would not be easy, Lucas knew as much. Prisons had their own society, their own hierarchy. Being part of the population now, Lucas had to find his place as soon as possible.

_And as high as possible. Otherwise this will turn out even worse than Lefortovo._

Sitting down on the cot he put the bundle down beside him.

_Now what have we got here?_

xXx

With the early sunset it began to snow again. Lucas stood at the barred window and watched the flakes fall. _Winter in Russia. That's not exactly what I had planned for my near future._ He did better not think about how the weather might be in London right now. Imagining his home nearly broke his heart.

_Vyetochka._

Thinking of his wife made his insides constrict. The snow reminded him of a walk in Hyde Park. It had been the Christmas season and they enjoyed an afternoon in town, going shopping, having cake and tea, strolling through the park. Seeing some children playing nearby, mischief had overwhelmed Lucas and he scooped up some snow to throw it at Elizavieta. She shrieked with shock, but a second later she bent down to retaliate his attack. Balls went flying in both directions until she closed in on him, jumping up to catch him and wash his face with a handful of snow. His attempt to avoid her had been half-hearted, actually. He grabbed her to take revenge, but they slipped and fell into the soft snow, laughing. Elizavieta even threw herself back and made a snow angel.

Her laughter echoing in his mind, made his fate even harder to bear.

A sigh escaped Lucas and he strolled back to the wooden bedding. Even though he had not been forced to work yet he was tired to the bones. Still he knew that he had to be alert. The prison's community would not forgive any mistakes on his part.

As soon as he heard voices and steps, Lucas got up from the long cot, as he did not want to step on anyone's toes as soon as they met. Avoiding that appeared to be essential for him.

Right then nobody came, though. Nobody except a guard who opened the cell and told Lucas to follow him. He was led to another barrack that turned out to be the dining-hall. When they entered, it did not take long until he was noticed. One after the other the inmates turned to him, which made Lucas feel like he was the new boy in class, up for inspection. Only that this was far more dangerous.

The warden stepped up in front of the gathered inmates.

"This is Lucas," he stated. "Think twice about how you treat him, _tovarischi_, the FSB expects to get him back in one piece."

_Oh, great! Why don't you just call me a rat?_

A lump formed in Lucas's throat at seeing many of the curious looks become hostile.

_Yes, I'm a British spy, and the warden just painted crosshairs__on my chest._

The warden nodded at the guard beside Lucas, who took the spook by the arm and led him to one of the long tables.

"Say hello to your new flat mate," the guard told the men who were seated there.

None of them reacted.

"Move over!" the guard commanded, gesturing at the men on the right bench.

Unwillingly they made space for the newcomer and the guard shoved Lucas down on the bench.

"Behave!" he commanded without making clear if he meant the group or Lucas, before he stepped back.

Lucas sat with his new best friends and wished for the ground to open and swallow him. They all stared at him, assessing him as he did them. He got the vibe that the man directly across from him was the leader of this group, the boss in the cell they were going to share. The others certainly had a rank of their own, but just by looking at them those were hard to determine. What Lucas had to avoid at all costs, though, was to become the end of the food-chain like he believed one man at a table to his right to be.

_Talking about food… could someone please tell me about the customs at mealtimes?_

The gaze of his opposite bore into Lucas and he decided to stare back. Even sitting down it was obvious that the man was tall and muscular. Lucas caught himself thinking about how he could take him out if need be.

"You're not Russian, right?" the man stated and Lucas nodded once in affirmation. "Are you a spy?"

Snorting, as if the idea was ridiculous, Lucas replied, "Are you a comedian? Because really, that's a terrible joke."

Lucas was glad that his voice did not betray his nervousness. One wrong word or look could get him into serious trouble. No matter how much training he had received and how often he had been out in the field… right now Lucas felt like a bloody junior officer on his first day, young and inexperienced. He hated it.

"Where are you from?" the guy beside him asked and earned a death glare for speaking up.

"Tell," Lucas's opposite commanded and he complied.

"Great Britain."

The man scowled. "MI5?"

There was no way he would admit to it, so Lucas vigorously shook his head.

"That's what the FSB seems to believe," he said, doing his best to sound offended.

The men laughed and one spoke up, "Yeah, sure. We're all innocent, you know," which earned him more laughter.

"I'm Yuri," the cell leader told Lucas and expectantly looked to the short side of the barrack. "You'll come with me. Speak with nobody. Don't even look at them. We'll have dinner…"

Once more Lucas nodded. With dread he sensed that more was to come.

"…and when we're back in our cell, we'll talk."

Yuri smirked devilishly and got up. Taking Lucas's arm, he commanded, "Come."

Standing, Lucas realized that Yuri was even taller than he was himself. Almost a head taller to be exact. Walking along with him to the counter, Lucas wondered if he already made a mistake by going with him. Judging by the hostile stares that followed him, though, he imagined that it was safer to stay near Yuri for the time being. When it was his turn to be served, the man behind the counter tried to wave him through, but Yuri snapped at him and Lucas got his share of the meal.

Back at the table they ate in silence. Lucas was surprised by the amount of food they were given.

_These men have to do hard labour, though. I could imagine that it still isn't enough to make up for the calories they burn._

A lump formed in his throat and he gulped the next bite down.

_And I'm one of them now. Don't know yet what we have to do here, though._

Lucas finished his meal and when the men stood to return to their respective cells he went with them.

The guard who locked the door was hardly out of sight when the men turned on Lucas. Before he even knew it, two of them had grabbed his arms and pinned him against the wall. While the others gathered in the front of the cell, blocking against views from the corridor, Yuri stepped up in front of Lucas.

"Well, now let's talk," he snarled, thumping his captive's chest with his fingertips. It did not look as if there was a lot of force behind it, but it still hurt and Lucas was sure that he would get a bruise there. "Who are you really?"

"Really?" Lucas chuckled nervously. It was not an act, but as he thought that some nervousness had to be expected in a situation like this, he did not mind showing it. "And why would you believe me when the FSB doesn't?"

"Well, for starters, we're no spies, _golubchik_," Yuri teased, patting Lucas's cheek. "We're hardened men who don't like to be played."

Inwardly Lucas cringed at being called _golubchik_, which was the diminutive of pigeon. If these men believed him to be just a pretty face, unable to stand up for himself, he would have to teach them differently.

"I'm not trying to play anybody," Lucas assured him. "If they took the piss out of anyone here, it's me. I'm a banker with Merrill Lynch International. Heck, the FSB doesn't even believe my name's not Lucas North!"

"Oh, brilliant!" Yuri mocked, eyeing the young spy appreciatively. "What is it then?"

"James Phelps," Lucas offered him his alias.

Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by the men erupting in laughter. Stunned, Lucas tried to figure out, what he had said that was so funny. His shoulders even hurt from his arms being jarred when the men about doubled over, and he tried to break out of their hold without success.

"My name's Phelps," Yuri chortled between fits of laughter, "James Phelps."

"No wonder they think he's a spy!" another man chimed in.

"Welcome to paradise, Double-O-Seven!" a third man cheered.

Lucas had noticed him before. He usually hovered in Yuri's vicinity, which made Lucas wonder whether he was under his protection or probably his right-hand man.

"Wouldn't that be a nice nickname for him?" just another voice mingled in. "Double-O-Seven?"

"Oh, please. Don't!" Lucas groaned reflexively, only to realize at the same time as the words came over his lips, that that might only egg them on. "You know what? Call me James, Jim, or even Lucas. I don't mind."

"I kinda like Double-O-Seven," Yuri snickered. Once more he laughed and gestured at the men holding Lucas to release him. "I like you, James," Yuri declared with a slap on Lucas's shoulder that jarred the spook's whole frame. His thumb caressed Lucas's neck which made the younger man suspicious. At once Lucas was on alert. "You'll take the place right next to me."

"Okay," Lucas muttered, uncertain about that being a good thing.

Yuri leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, "It's either that, or you'll have to deal with a line-up. Your choice."

Glancing at the rest of the men, Lucas realized that there was not much of a choice. Yuri looked at least healthy, which was not the case with all of them. He knew that he had to make deals with the men in here if he wanted to survive, and it looked like he was already forced to agree to one.

*tovarischi = comrades

xXx

Yuri became the one who showed Lucas the ropes. The labour was hard, working in a surface mine, and in the evening Lucas dropped onto the cot with exhaustion. Yuri lay beside him and Lucas worried. Sooner rather than later, Yuri would demand the payment for his protection. While Lucas was prepared to defend himself against assaults from the other inmates with brute force, he felt that he had no other choice but to meet Yuri's demands as it would be too easy for his others cellmates to overpower him within the confines of their cell. Lucas believed to have no other choice but to accept another evil in order to avoid being forced to serve all of them.

It seemed rather a paradox as Lucas knew the strict legal stance on homosexuality, and that most Russians, regardless of their own opinion on the subject, fell in line with the propaganda. Some even claimed to view same sex orientation as a disease. Accordingly actual homosexuals would be at the very end of the prison's food chain. However, rape was not about sex, even though the men certainly missed it. First and foremost rape was about power.

It would not be as easy as it sounded, though. Lucas did not think that Yuri would be brutal, trying to break him in like a horse, but the idea of having homosexual intercourse still appalled the spook. He did not want to sell his body. It was as simple as that, and yet Lucas could not see a way around it. He had nothing else to offer and he knew that he would be in for a very hard time if he lost Yuri's protection.

Fate, for once, turned out to be on Lucas's side.

They were working near the steep side of the opencast pit when ominous cracking sounds alarmed Lucas. He was not sure what it could be, but with every fibre of his being he sensed that something was wrong. Between strokes with his pickaxe, Lucas's gaze kept drifting back to the towering rock formation, and his presentiment of danger intensified. Another crack made not only him look up from his work. Some of the workers were dangerously close to the wall. Lucas acted out of pure instinct, doing something that was incredibly stupid in hindsight.

He let his tool drop and jumped into the driver's seat of one of the guards' cars, chasing it toward the other inmates. Yelling at them to jump up onto the vehicle, Lucas glanced up at the rocks, right when a big part burst with a thundering noise, sending a landslide down the steep slope.

_Shit!_

Lucas pressed his foot on the accelerator, ignoring the falling rocks and thinking only of the men in danger of being buried.

"Davai!" he shouted as he chased the car toward Yuri and the others. His cellmate searched for a hold on the body and jumped onto the jeep. Two more were close enough to reach the vehicle as well, when Lucas slowed just enough for them to make the jump, but he could hear others yell for him to wait.

_Impossible!_

Driven by adrenalin, Lucas accelerated again. On the periphery of his vision he saw the rocks slide toward them. Suddenly the car bounced up and to the side. The impact threw Lucas so far up that he lost touch with the seat, only to drop back into it just as a stream of gravel washed against the side of the jeep and pushed it along. For a horrible moment, Lucas thought that they would turn over, but somehow he managed to steer the car clear of the rubble.

When Lucas stopped the car and the inmates got off it, guards approached, guns raised. Holding up his hands, he awkwardly got out of the car, shouting, "Don't shoot! We comply! Don't shoot!"

The guards ordered them to step aside and did their best to get order back into the excited group. One of them yelled at Lucas, reprimanding and threatening him. He already thought he would end up in solitary for taking the car, but they stopped at yelling.

Thankfully none of those who escaped the landslide was seriously injured. Abrasions and lacerations were hurriedly treated. Aside from that one of the men had broken his arm, which was not that bad, seeing that for two others any kind of help came too late. When the freezing water broke a huge piece of stone out of the mine's wall they were too close by and were buried alive by falling rocks. The man whom Lucas had noticed on his first day at the camp as one at the very end of the food chain was one of them and he felt bad about the fact that he could not save all of them.

One quite positive aspect of the whole matter was that Yuri now treated Lucas with much more respect than before, and Lucas did not need to worry anymore about having to serve him.

xXx

Now that Lucas was accepted by the other inmates he made contacts and learned about the culture at the labour camp. By now he knew whom he had to address when he needed anything, and he had decided to talk with _Tolkach _about his situation. Carefully he approached the man who was said to be the labour camp's wheeler-dealer. As everyone knew who Lucas was, it was no surprise for the spook when Tolkach was reluctant to agree to any kind of deal.

"Look," Lucas tried to explain, "I have no one on the outside, no way to get money or goods to trade. All I have are my skills. Perhaps you know someone who would have use for them. Someone who would be able to help me get by in exchange for my services."

"And just what skills would a banker possess that would be useful in a place like this?"

Lucas would not, knew he could not, acknowledge being a spy, being trained to kill. The moment he did that, the FSB would take him back and his life would get much worse.

"You're a resourceful man," he finally said. "I'm sure you can think of something I might be good at."

"And what if I do?" Tolkach asked. "What would I get in exchange for helping you make such a connection?"

"I would owe you a favour," Lucas replied.

Of course, it went without saying that it would be the kind of favour that made the difference between life and death. Lucas knew it could come back to haunt him, but he needed to do _something_, because his status alone could buy him nothing at all.

"I'll let you know," Tolkach told him flatly and returned to the book he was reading.

Feeling dismissed, Lucas returned to Yuri and Sergei.

"You all right?" Yuri asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lucas nodded. "I think he'll help."

Yuri chuckled. "Tolkach never helps. He only works when he's paid."

Thoughtfully, Lucas sank onto a bench.

"You know, James," Yuri said, sitting down beside him. "I think you should get a tattoo."

Lucas scowled. "I don't like tattoos."

"It's not about liking them," Yuri explained. "They tell others about who you are. You still are new. Nobody knows about you. You need to show them that you can be trusted."

"Oh, c'mon," Lucas prodded. "You trust me, don't you?"

"As long as your friendship profits more than it costs me... but believe me, James, you should wear something right on your skin that makes a clear statement about you."

Lucas still was not convinced. It was not just the fact that he disliked tattoos. He knew that tattooing in prison could be dangerous because it could transfer diseases and cause infection.

"Just do yourself a favour and speak with Khudozhnik," Yuri said. "You'll see."

Even though he still was not sure about it, Lucas agreed to see him.

xXx

"Well, I think that Yuri is right," the tattoo artist told Lucas when he met with him during lunch break.

Lucas still was undecided. "I don't understand why it's so important to you if I'm wearing a tattoo or not."

"It's not about us," Khudozhnik told him matter-of-factly. "It's about you. It's about making a statement. It's about expressing who you are."

"I definitely don't see myself with a rose tattoo, or a sailboat," Lucas groaned. "Really not."

"No?" the artist pressed. "Being sent to the camps for trying to escape...? You're predestined for a sailboat."

Lucas was stunned. How did this man know about the reason why he was sent here? He had not told anyone about it, not even Yuri.

"But..."

"Tattooing uses a special code, Lucas," Khudozhnik explained. "A sailboat stands for the desire for freedom. It also matters where the picture's placed on your body."

"And you think it's wise to express that wish publicly?" Lucas queried.

"It's not like you're painting 'I want to escape' on your forehead," Khudozhnik shrugged. "You can choose something more subtle. A chain with broken links for example. There's a number of symbols depicting your wish."

For a moment Lucas remained silent, thinking about what he was told. It sounded logical, but he still was reluctant about marking his body permanently.

"Did Yuri mention to you that a tattoo's also a sign of belonging?" the artist shook Lucas out of his musings.

"Belonging?" Lucas's insides constricted with the idea of _belonging_ to this world. Mere months ago he had belonged at the side of a beautiful young woman and to a job that he loved because it made the world of his new family a little bit safer. At the age of twenty-six he dreamed simple, idealistic dreams of having children with Elizavieta and becoming chief of Section D. Harry had taken him under his wing, which might turn him into his successor one day. A future that still lay in the shadows and that might be lost to him forever now.

"Well, like it or not, you're stuck here, my boy," the artist explained. "Whatever you do gains you a reputation and tattoos play the part of a society's basic code. When the others see your tattoo, all members of the community immediately understand what to do and how to behave. However, the language of the tattoos brings about not only an interpersonal social discourse but also an intrapersonal discourse in which the encounter with the body transforms the tattoo from a mere decoration into a symbol and a visual embodiment of sensations, emotions, and ideology. With your actions you earned yourself the right to bear a tattoo, so you should really go along with the flow."

For the second time, Lucas was astonished, this time by the depths of the artist's analysis as well as his language.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because Tolkach said you wanted a tattoo."

Lucas chuckled. "No, I mean here, at the labour camp. Do you mind telling me how you got here?"

"I'm an artist..." he started reluctantly. "And as it happens to the majority, my art was breadless. I needed money to feed my family... and did business with the wrong people."

"What did they want?"

"Faked masterpieces?"

Lucas's brows shot up. "You're that good?"

"Yeah. I've studied at the St. Petersburg Academy of Art. Unfortunately, being good alone does not pay the bills. I tried to work as a teacher. I even painted walls... in plain grey. But I didn't earn enough, so I made a decision."

"Sorry."

Khudozhnik smirked.

"We're all innocent. Don't you know that?"

"I was told as much," Lucas smirked back before he became serious. "Do you use actual ink?"

"Define ink."

"Ink bought at a store."

The artist huffed. "Keep dreaming. I use what I can get my hands on. Mostly urine and ash."

Lucas wrinkled his nose. "Urine... nice. Um... could you use my own?"

"Could do."

Thoughtfully, Lucas nodded. "I'll have to think about it."

"You shouldn't wait too long," the artist advised.

"I'll meet you tomorrow, all right?"

"Sure. I'll be here."

Lucas returned the crooked grin and began to think about what he would want to have tattooed and where as he walked back to his place of work.

tbc…


End file.
